Mon Amour
by Chapt3rFour
Summary: "I just don't see how a few minutes alone can make two people suddenly fall in love." Arthur doesn't understand the logic behind love, but can a wacky idea by America and seven minutes alone with Francis change his mind...? FrUK.


**_Mon Amour _**

**A/N: My first Hetalia fic posted here. :D ****Just to note, I used a mixture of their country titles and human names in this fic. Not sure why. Also, while this is Fruk, there are several not-so subtle references to America x Russia, and Greece x Japan (a pairing which is rapidly becoming one of my favourites. They are freaking _adorable_... :3 Anway, please enjoy! ~**

It had been America's foolish idea that started it all. The power had cut suddenly during the meeting of all the nations, leading to much pandemonium on Italy's part and much enthusiasm on Alfred's. They sat around the table, waiting patiently for the power to return for several minutes when, by chance, Spain had glanced out the window and noticed complete darkness all across the city.

"Widespread power outage," Germany had concluded, after one quick internet search. Feliciano, who was desperately clinging to his arm, relaxed his grip and, eventually, let go.

Alfred sank back into his seat with a loud sigh of relief. "Phew. I thought we were going to be murdered."

China, from across the table, rolled his eyes. "There goes your overactive imagination again, America. Nobody is going to be murdered in a _world peace _meeting."

"I call the meeting be adjourned." Germany proposed, standing up and shuffling the papers before him into a neatly ordered stack.

"And how the hell do we get back to our hotels, you imbecile?!" France was barely visible in the darkened room, but a mobile phone light supplied by Japan helped to illuminate the side of his face. "It is pitch-black outside!"

"We'll have to stay here," affirmed Japan, siding with Francis.

Germany sighed and sat back down. "Right, well, we can make use of this time to speak of the economic state. Better we not throw away this valuable opportunity while it is still here."

"Dude, that's a waste. Who cares about that stuff? I say we should play a game!"

"America, your country is high on the agenda in this meeting!" China interjected, "We have no time for games!"

"Aw c'mon China. Don't be such an old prude! It'd be awesome. A game of 'Truth or Dare'…. In the dark!" America sat enthusiastically foreword, receiving nothing but blank stares from around the table. "Oh, c'mon, don't tell me you guys don't know what 'Truth or Dare' is?!"

"Of course we know what that is!" snapped Ludwig.

"So then what's the problem? Scared you won't be able to handle it?"

The German's face reddened. He hated being forced into these childish battles with the American nation. That was usually England's territory. "America! Are you not a grown adult man who, oh I don't know, _represents one of the largest countries in the world_?!"

Alfred shrugged. "Don't be a killjoy, Germany. Whoever wants to sit and discuss the current economic state in the dark instead of playing a game of 'Truth of Dare' raise your hand." He looked around, smirking as only Germany lifted his hand, and Italy, who was simply following his friend's lead. "I rest my case." He said, grinning from ear to ear.

Germany sighed once again and sat back into his chair. "Fine, you win."

China threw his papers down on the table in exasperation. "Oh, of course we give America the spoiled child what he wants. Well, I for one point-blank _refuse_ to play a teenage girl's sleepover game."

"I must agree with China," Francis said, "There is something juvenile in a game of simply telling truths and doing silly dares, non? Why don't we spice this up a little?"

"And what do you propose?" England spoke up, narrowing his eyes a little at the blonde French man. He was always suspicious of his antics.

"We play a game of 'Seven Minutes in Heaven'." Francis's face broke out into his characteristic smile, a perfect blend of mischief and malevolence.

The other nations stared at him incredulously. Even Alfred seemed surprised. Eventually, it was Italy who answered, as air-headed and cheery as ever.

"Okay! Once I can spend it with Germany~" he smiled and wrapped his arms around Ludwig's arm.

The German turned a deep shade of red and tried to shake him off. "G-Get off, Feliciano." He looked up and saw the others staring at them both, faces plastered with knowing, amused smirks. "N-No! We're not- I mean, I haven't ever- He… Me… no! Goddamit, stop smiling all of you!"

"All in favour?" Francis asked.

There was a chorus of 'Yes', harmonised by a 'Get _off_ me, Italy!'.

"Right, I have a bottle here. Shall we begin?" America raised a half-empty water bottle and placed it in the middle of the table. Half the nations were sitting back, relaxed, knowing that even if they were picked, they wouldn't do anything anyway.

Alfred spun the bottle with one fluid motion. It spun for several seconds before landing on Japan. The nation swallowed, masking his expression as usual.

"Don't worry dude, it won't be too bad! Worst case scenario you get old-man China."

From his seat, China gave an irate shout of protest at America's statement.

Alfred, totally ignoring all shouting from the Asian nation, spun the plastic bottle again. "Let us see who the other victim is."

"This is stupid." Arthur exclaimed, as they all huddled forward to see who was to be picked. "You're only making things awkward."

"Hush, Angleterre. Nothing 'awkward' comes from love," Francis said, catching the Englishman's gaze.

"Everything awkward comes from love!" The blonde snapped back.

"Aaaaand it's… Greece!"

All eyes flickered over to the Grecian man. Sitting legs crossed, with a cat on his lap, he cocked his head to the side and frowned slightly. "What?" He asked, catching America's gaze.

On the other side of the table, Japan looked shocked, eyes slightly wide. Francis gave a devious laugh at his expression. Several years ago a rumour was flying around that the two nations had slept together. Of course, it was just a rumour, but still… All rumours have some grain of truth in them.

"You and Japan. Seven minutes alone. In the hall. In the dark." America tried – and failed – to imply a seductive undertone to his statement by raising his eyebrows several times suggestively. "C'mon guys….!"

Before either of them could protest, America and France grabbed them both from behind under the arms and dragged, pulled and pushed them to the hall door, shoving them into the dark abyss of the corridor and slamming the door firmly behind the two shouting nations.

There was banging on the door for several seconds, but Alfred had turned the lock and was dusting his hands proudly, as if to show that he was rid of the two of them. Beside England, France returned to his seat, laughing in that annoyingly perverted way of his. "Hon, hon, hon ~"

"Those two are so cute," America proclaimed, sitting down.

Germany was staring at his, incredulously. "That was…"

"Forceful," finished Spain, eyes wide as saucers.

"Ah, I'm sure they're fine." America obviously didn't see this as a big deal.

"Alfred, you do know they, er, slept together once before, right?" Arthur glanced at the American, who seemed quiet happy with himself. "Wasn't that a bit harsh?"

"Once again, mon cher, you underestimate the fine art of love. They will get on fine, just you see." France seemed quiet confident, but England merely huffed.

The minutes dragged on, and when the timer finally went off, it was America who opened the door enthusiastically and shouted, "Time is up!"

Due to the darkness, no one saw what really aspired at that moment, but the two nations walked in again, indifferent. Japan was cool and composed, both his hair and expression being the same as they were before he left. He sat down and ignored the glances. Greece, too, was as laid-back as ever. He sat back into the chair, refolded his legs and let the cat jump onto his lap once again.

England turned to France. "I told you!" He whispered, "There's a weird tension in the air. You shouldn't have forced them, frog!"

France, however, smiled in response. "Or is there? Take a close look."

England glanced over to Greece; he was stroking the cat's head gently, content smile on his lips. Every few seconds he would raise his gaze to Japan, smile a little more, and look back down.

As for Japan, he looked the same as ever, except for the hue of pink gently surfacing on his cheeks. The paleness of his complexion especially highlighted the blush reddening as the seconds passed.

"See?" France whispered, leaning over, "You know nothing of how love works, dearest Arthur."

The blonde Englishman huffed. "That proves nothing. They're still high on lust. I fail to see how in seven minutes you can just fix all the awkward."

"You would be surprised. But I will not explain it to such a loveless nation."

Before Arthur could respond, America had spoken again, interrupting all the little conversations occurring around the table.

"Okay guys. Let's go again." He spun the water bottle, and it landed on himself. Romano laughed at America's facial expression: pure and utter shock.

"Didn't expect that, did you America?" Russia was grinning cutely from his seat, but the usual aura of cold terror was radiating from him as always, cancelling it all out.

"Er, cool." America commented as he stared at the bottle. "I guess I better spin it again…" The brashness was gone from his voice. He seemed suddenly full of wonder as his slightly trembling hand gave the bottle a twist.

Everyone watched as the plastic container spun. It rotated twice, before slowing down. It passed England; he held his breath. Despite what Francis would say, if he had to spend seven minutes with America… It would be awkward.

It passed him, thankfully and slowly trawled towards France. The French man seemed somewhat tense, almost as if he didn't want it to land on him. Arthur found this odd; France was the nation of love. Why was he shying away?

"Scared, frog?" He teased, his voice a whisper.

"... Not America." France replied, his voice uncomfortable and detached. "_No_."

But thankfully, the bottle didn't stop on France.

Russia, however, was a different story.

"Russia, dude, this is it." America's mouth was open slightly as he glanced from the bottle to Russia to his feet.

No one could believe it; the American was bashful... For once!

From her seat, Belarus was livid. "No! You cannot-"

Russia stood up, however, and continued his ever-present pleasant smile (the blue lines of horror were still emanating however).

"America?" He asked, extending a hand, palm faced up. "Are you ready?"

"Y-Yeah." Alfred cleared his throat and said a little more boldly, "It should be you being asked the question. Are _you_ ready, Russia?"

They proceeded to leave the room, chatting happily.

"Well, that gives us some peace." England commented, folding his hands behind his head.

"Oui, it does," replied France. All around them, everyone was slipping into conversations to the people around them. "What do you make of this one, Angleterre?"

He was referring to Ivan and Alfred, obviously, but it took Arthur took a moment to reply. "Well, America and Russia have no real chemistry. But- What?!" He interrupted his explanation at the smile on France's lips. "What now, frog?"

"Oh, but you are wrong. There is much love between the two. It is undiscovered, however. This is the beginning of new-found emotions, coursing through their brains as we speak right now."

Raising a quizzical eyebrow, Arthur said, "Really?" His voice was deadpan.

"You are still not convinced, Angleterre. But, alas, I can not change you."

"I just don't see how a few minutes alone can make two people suddenly fall in love."

France scoffed. "Have those films I sent you taught you nothing?!"

England's ears turned pink. "If you're referring to _those _films, I had my gardener dispose of them. They were pure filth!"

"But, did you not see the message? Love is not simply a spontaneous thing – it is a process of many, many weeks, months... Even years! Think of a little seed. When it is sown, it will hopefully grow into a beautiful flower. Love is similar. It is sown when you meet someone. Like a seed, you either know what it will turn out to be, or not. If you know it is love, then in will grow into love, hopefully. If you don't know what it is, it's true form will surface eventually. You will just be a little surprised when you realise this." France caught his gaze and smiled. "Get it? England and Russia have deep feelings neither of them knew were love. You will see, mon cher. You will see."

Speechless – well, Francis was not called the nation of love for nothing – Arthur had no comeback to that. So he changed the subject. "Stop calling me that," he protested.

"Call you what, mon amour?" He gave a smirk, loving it when Arthur was annoyed.

"That. 'Amour'. It's annoying. What does it even mean anyway?" He scowled.

Francis laughed. "It's nothing. Just my pet name for you."

Arthur huffed. He had once spoken French moderately well, but his accent was terrible and he seemed to have forgotten many words over the years. He guessed it meant something mean. Probably a jape at his food or eyebrows.

The time ticked away, and after the seven minutes were up, the door opened and Alfred returned, Ivan happily behind him. Unlike Heracles and Kiku, both of the nations showed obvious signs of a very passionate seven minutes.

"Told you so~" France said to England.

The blonde haired man said nothing to the Frenchman, simply sunk into his chair. "This is ridiculously childish." He said out loud, when America and Russia – after a kiss – went back to their chairs. "On second thoughts, I agree with Germany. We should be discussing the economy. We need not play these silly teenager games."

From his seat, Germany spoke. "Screw the economy; I have no objections to this." Even in the minimal light, everyone could see the Italian man was sitting on his lap, arms wrapped around the German. Apparently, it was their 'game' technique. If they were picked, they'd both have to go together. It didn't stop Italy planting little kisses on his cheek every so often, causing the usually so composed German to break this poise to kiss him back.

In exasperation, England stood up. "Right, I'm done. I'm going." He went to go, but he felt someone tug on his hand.

"Look, England."

The Brit looked at the table, seeing the bottle on the table. America had spun it while he wasn't paying attention, and it was now pointing in his direction.

"Fuck it. I'm leaving. Spin it again."

A chorus of voices suddenly echoed in protest around the table.

"But Arthur, you have to play!"

"C'mon, don't be a drag, man!"

"Please, mon chéri?"

Sighing in frustration, England sat down again. "Fine, but I'm not doing it unless it's-" Suddenly, he caught himself. What was he about to say...?

"Nah, sorry bro, but it doesn't matter who you get. Rules are rules."

"It's only a game!" Protested the Englishman. "For God's sake!"

"Tough." France said, and reached forward to spin the bottle.

The Brit closed his eyes and turned away. He didn't want to see who he'd get. It was probably going to be someone he didn't even know, like Romano – not that Spain would let _that_ happen – or Ukraine. Well, at least she was pretty…

"Ohhh!" America let out a laugh. It had landed, obviously.

He didn't want to open his eyes. Someone had taken his hand and linked their fingers. It was probably a mocking gesture, but the nation had stopped caring.

"Open your eyes dude!"

As hard as he tried, he couldn't. His shoulders were tensed, his mouth dry. _It's just game…_ he reassured himself. _You don't have to play if you don't want to…._

Suddenly, someone placed a hand on his cheek, their mouth near his ear; he could feel their breath on his neck. He smelled aftershave. It was familiar. He tried to recall who wore aftershave which smelled so fresh and fruity and… _Oh shit_, he thought. _Please not…!_

"Open your eyes, mon amour."

England's eyes snapped open, and his face was inched away from France's.

"Fuck!" He shouted, and jumped back. "No! Not you!"

Anyone would be hurt, but Francis brushed it off, as if he was expecting it. "Come on, Arthur. The clock is ticking…!"

The Englishman tried to back away, from the advancing blonde, but tripped over Spain's legs and fell back onto the floor. He landed on his back, but quickly propped himself up with his elbows again. Francis nimbly stepped over to him and bent down to see the nation more clearly.

"I know you are scared, but we do not have to do anything if you don't want to." He was whispering so America wouldn't hear, hand extended towards Arthur.

"Promise?" Arthur said warily.

"I promise, mon amour."

After a moment's thought, the Englishman finally took the outstretched hand and was brought to his feet.

"Alright. I'll set the timer. Have fun dudes!"

As the reached the door, America pushed them out and closed it behind them. As soon the door slammed shut, all the sound inside was blocked off.

It was dark in the hall, but the moonlight shone through a floor-length window. Arthur had to admit, it was a very tender sight.

"So…" He said eventually, unaware of what to do. "Here we are. Awkward, and…"

Francis pressed a finger to his lips. "Shh, let me do the talking."

Arthur swallowed, but kept his mouth shut. Subconsciously, he gently bit his lower lip.

"Arthur… Do you have a secret?"

This question took the Brit by surprise. "A… secret? No, why?"

"Did something bad ever happen to you, something that hurt you terribly?" Francis's face was serious; it was a bizarre sight to behold.

"No…" England frowned, shaking his head. "I don't get why you're asking me this…?"

The Frenchman gently reached down and took Arthur's right hand in both of his. He flinched, but didn't pull away. "Arthur, I've noticed that you don't believe in love and trust and-"

"Trust?" Arthur pulled his hand away. "Of course I have trust! I trust many things!"

"Things, yes, but how many _people_ do you trust?" Francis asked, his voice firm. "Honestly?"

"I trust many people!" Arthur spat back, face reddening.

"Name them," Francis challenged. "I dare you."

"Well, there's… There's…" Arthur's voice trailed off when he realised something; he lacked the confidence to admit that he trusted no one but himself. America or Japan or Germany… "I'm an island." He said, his voice wavering in strength, "I trust no one but myself. I need no one."

"That is where you are wrong, mon amour." Francis went to cup the other man's face but he swatted his hands away.

"What do you know," he spat irritably. "About me? Nothing!"

The Frenchman sighed, closing his eyes momentarily as he spoke. "Arthur, I proposed to you once before, do you remember?"

"Yes." The nation admitted. He had been mortified.

"And… Do you remember your reason for declining?"

He gave it a thought. France had asked for his hand with the idea of his countries prosperity in mind. England had no interest in this. He had not wanted to wed France for this reason. "I said, 'Not for that reason'…" His voice trailed off, catching Francis's gaze.

"I noticed that when the couples inside were selected, you were sceptical. Why is that?" He never let Arthur reply, he kept talking. "Because you didn't believe there was ever a little seed of love sown between those two couples, did you? Sex and friendship could not merely be enough for two people to fall in love, non?"

Arthur stared at him. "I didn't mean that, I just-"

"And," he interrupted, "Let me ask you this, Angleterre. If I had proposed to you because I loved you, would you have said 'yes'?"

"Fra-France! I can't justify a question like that straight away!"

"Think…! Would you have declined as you did all those months ago?"

The Englishman stammered for a while before answering, his voice barely above a whisper. "No."

"Why?"

"Goddammit, I don't _know_ Francis!" He was getting flustered. No one, not even himself, had ever asked him these questions before. So why now? And why France?

"Angleterre, I'm telling you now: you really do have that little love seed planted. It is there, niggling at your subconscious for a while now. You are just too afraid to take the plunge. You are afraid of it being unrequited, oui?"

Arthur avoided his question. "And what makes you think you know this about me, frog?" He straightened his position and looked France straight in the eyes. His voice was stronger now, more bold. "How would you even notice, huh? You hate me! Why would you concern yourself with the matters of _my_ heart!"

The Frenchman couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed the Englishman's shoulder's firmly. "Arthur! Open up your gorgeous eyes and _see_! It is because I love you!"

The Englishman's face turned red. "You… Love… Me?"

"Yes. _You_! I love you more than anything else in the world. More than French cuisine and annoying Germany and even wine."

Arthur was gobsmacked. His face was beat-red, and his veins were pulsing with adrenaline. Francis loved _him_?! At first, his reaction was to slap him, accuse him of lying. He was France, after all. He would have sex with anything that let him. Why would he so openly profess his love to England, a nation whose food turned his stomach and weather made him depressed?

But then, he remembered…

_"I just don't see how a few minutes alone can make two people suddenly fall in love."_

_"... If you don't know what it is, it's true form will surface eventually. You will just be a little surprised when you realise this..."_

"I was also oblivious..." Francis continued. "When I was told to ask for your hand in marriage, I did it on an order. But when you declined, something in me felt disappointed, and it wasn't because of my country. I then realised that I had fallen for you." He relaxed his grip on England's shoulders, sliding his hands down to his rest on his hips. "Angleterre, _je t'aime_. That means…"

"I love you. I know." England moved closer and pressed his forehead against Francis's, heart racing a mile a minute. He felt dizzy, his head spinning with what he just learned. Suddenly, it was like something in his mind just clicked into place, like a missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle or the right variable in an equation. Those unidentifiable feelings… They were..."I love you too, you stupid frog."

He wrapped his arms around France's shoulder and leaned in to kiss him. Suddenly, there was a flicker in the light and the hall was illuminated once again; the electricity was back. And, simultaneously, as if planned, America, burst open the doors. "Time is up, lovebirds!"

Just as soon as the doors were fully opened, Arthur's lips landed on Francis's. The Frenchman was taken by surprise, but squeezed his arms around the Englishman's hips and lifted him up as they kissed. Arthur wrapped his legs around Francis's waist, still feverishly kissing his lips, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to control his racing mind. Why did it all only make sense _now?!_

"I, er, guess we should go now…" Germany was first to speak, Italy still cradled on his lap.

"Ve, Germany, we should try that!" The Italian said, looking thoughtfully at the embracing men before them. "It looks romantic ~"

Germany's face turned red as several people in the room turned to look at Italy while he spoke, but he could do nothing as the smaller man rested his head against his shoulder in a display of tender affection.

Meanwhile, Arthur had broken away from kissing Francis for a minute. "The power's back?" He said suddenly, only noticing for the first time.

France looked up. "Ah, so it is."

"Yeah, well you guys wouldn't have noticed, seeing you were playing tonsil tennis all the while," America scoffed. "C'mon Ivan, let's go." He took the Russian's hand and walked out of the room. "See ya tomorrow, guys."

One by one, people left. Arthur slid to the ground, eyes fixed on no one but Francis. The Frenchman was gently rubbing his new lover's cheek with the back of his fingers affectionately.

"Tu es beau," he whispered, "Je t'aime. It means-"

"You're beautiful. I love you." Arthur finished. He smiled and gave the Frenchman's lips a quick kiss. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For being so stubborn. For not trusting you. I shouldn't have been so self absorbed."

"You weren't. You were just scared, but it's okay now." He kissed Arthur's lips softly. "Shall we go?" He asked, noticing they were the only two left.

"Alright, but first.." Arthur smiled, running his hands up Francis's chest and snaking them over his shoulders, where he linked his fingers behind the Frenchman's neck. "What does 'mon chéri' mean again?"

"It means 'my darling'."

"And 'mon amour'?"

"My love." He replied, hands pulling Arthur's hips closer, lips millimeters apart.

"Ah, merci… _Mon amour_." Arthur said in a bad, mock-French accent, which didn't piss Francis off like it normally once would have. It just made him chuckle and capture his lips once again.

_**A/N: Whoooo, cheesy & fluffy, this is my first Hetalia fic ever. Written on a whim, too! Please review, and no flames! :o Thanks for reading ~ :3**_


End file.
